The 1 Thing Every Woman Needs to Know About Whiskey Dick

The problem with whiskey dick is not that it happens. (Because when it does happen, it's, like, a little inconvenient! It's mildly unfortunate! It sort of sucks and is kind of hilarious, briefly!) The problem with whiskey dick is how it's perceived: as something to which blame can be assigned. Inevitably, that blame seems to fall, self-directed or otherwise, on women.

Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

This is bullshit.

Whiskey dick is fucking meaningless, and by no means should you hold yourself accountable for it. I say this as a man who has gotten whiskey dick numerous times over the span of my sexually active life — and not once has it happened because of anything the woman I was with did (or didn't do) in bed or what she was (or wasn't) physically.

At Sunday brunch, or over beers and wings during Monday night football, or via group texts loaded with tears-of-joy faces and purple eggplants, guys universally discuss whiskey dick with self-deprecating humor. We laugh about "shooting pool with a rope." (Come on, that's a hilarious metaphor.) We regale each other with stories of using a "splint" — a well-placed thumb as support for a momentarily dysfunctional dick. We talk about being so down for sex with you, only for our relevant appendage to foil our most otherwise-aroused efforts.

For guys, whiskey dick's insignificance comes from knowing precisely why it happens. We know when whiskey dick actually is the product of too much booze (the most common culprit), and we know when it's due to something deeper and more psychological.

Because of our privileged perspective of knowing exactly why our dicks do what they do, we can afford to laugh about whiskey dick. Sure, it's our own bodies ruining the fun (yours, ours, the creepy neighbor's), and yes, it's our own fault we drank too much or are too anxious, and man, we couldn't get ourselves off if we tried, and that's not ideal because orgasms are sweet. But we don't mope or become recluses out of embarrassment from whiskey dick because whiskey dick is so goddamn inconsequential. And because we know that it's temporary.

Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

But in the heat of the moment (or lack thereof), we feel awkward, stammer out excuses, fumble over words that we hope might make you feel less weird. We know you are not privy to why this is happening. We know that, in the moments after our handsy makeout session against a wall and our pants-off, dick-soft moment of truth in bed, you've likely placed the onus of this flaccid penis squarely on yourself.

What am I doing wrong? you ask yourself. Is he not attracted to me? The answers to those questions are almost certainly "Nothing" and "No, he is."

Guys get whiskey dick when they've had too much to drink. (That's science.) But we also get it when we're anxious or nervous or stressed out. Maybe we're really into you and don't want to fuck things up and we're worried that if we underwhelm in bed, you'll probably head straight for that strong-jawed, man-bunned dude you're tagged with in all those group photos on Instagram. Maybe we've gone through a dry spell — it happens to the best of us — and are feeling the phallic equivalent of butterflies in one's stomach at the prospect of having sex. Maybe we've never had a one-night stand or, conversely, never slept with anyone for whom we had real feelings. Maybe we're depressed.

Every one of these reasons — all of which, I think, have been causes of my own whiskey dick — has absolutely nothing to do with your attractiveness or sexual abilities. Whiskey dick is a trifling, banal occurrence that reveals as much about a guy's character and standing as A Man as it does about your allure and competence as A Woman.

That is to say, nothing at all.

So what should you do when a guy gets whiskey dick? You can express mild amusement — it is mildly amusing — but don't outright laugh. In my experience, the most common response is something to the effect of "Is there … anything I can do?" That's a perfectly acceptable response! It shows you're willing to take action to solve this minor problem, if you are so able. But as a guy, I'm telling you that most of the time, no, there's truly nothing you can do. And when we apologize — "Sorry, no, I mean, I wish, but my, uh, my dick's just not gonna work right now" — we mean it.

Guys, for our part, should still hold themselves accountable for ensuring that you enjoy yourself sans penile penetration. We have hands and mouths, and we can — "We will! We must!" men across the world cry — make it up to you. The barrier to orgasm is ours and ours alone.

Listen: There's a dream I've had in which I'm with a woman whose body is an amalgamation of my favorite physical traits of women I've dated and whose face is a soft, flesh-colored abstraction. We're kissing, touching, drinking beer — hey, it's my dream — together in a sunlit room on an impossibly white bed whose edges extend to infinity, kind of like Shaquille O'Neal's.

And in this dream, one that seemed destined for the sex-dream canon, the kind you have most vividly when you're desperately single and unintentionally celibate, I get whiskey dick. Seriously. I get whiskey dick in this sex dream, and then, always just as my dream-self realizes that my dream-dick is flaccid, I wake up. And I chuckle. Because whiskey dick is a funny thing, and it happens even when literally everything else is dream-perfect.